


In Theory

by orphan_account



Series: Conspiracy Theory [2]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:09:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3572504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coming out changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take a Deep Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Just a place to keep them for now. Eventually to be turned into a cohesive whole.

Chris grips his carry-on a little tighter, and then shifts it to his other hand when that doesn't help calm his nerves. He looks up in surprise when Zach takes it from him. Chris opens his mouth to protest, but Zach just shakes his head, smiles a little and stows it with the rest of the luggage on the trolley, and then slams the rental car's trunk; it echoes in the parking garage.

"You ready?"

"Um, not really?" He wonders if that's the wrong answer for a second, but Zach doesn't look upset. He's still smiling, so maybe it's fine that Chris' stomach is turning somersaults. He's not panicking, exactly. It's just… weird, is all. They've never flown anywhere together without half the cast of Trek with them. And they never arrive at airports together.

Not alone. Not like this.

"Come on," Zach says, quiet; not ostentatious, not obvious. And he doesn't reach for Chris' hand or anything. It shouldn't be weird, but it is. And it takes a second before he's moving, but even so he's half a step behind Zach. Until Zach pulls up to wait for him.

Chris glances at him, half-afraid he'll find irritation or exasperation, but Zach's face is calm, if not somewhat expectant. And that's okay, Chris finds. He smiles a little and they fall in step.

It's a small airport—a small town in northern California so there are no paparazzi to worry about. No one really gives them a second glance. Not until they get to the ticket counter, and the woman punching Zach's information into her computer suddenly does a double take—one of those comical, straight out of a movie ones—and squints between them. Her lips part on the second pass.

"Are you… oh my god…"

A really small town, and it probably doesn't see a lot of celebrities so Chris can't really blame her. Although for a split second, he's afraid she's going to start squealing or something. Her face goes bright red, and maybe she's hyperventilating.

But she swallows it down, pushes Zach's ID back across to him. "I'm sorry." She's definitely about to start hyperventilating. "I've just… I've never…"

But Zach smiles at her, because he's good with fans—except that one time with the fanfiction question, which Chris thinks they'll probably never mention again. "No problem," he assures her, palming his license and sliding it back into his wallet.

Chris still has to hand over his own ID and information and it takes her an age—and many fumbled attempts—to get him into the system. "You… uh, you want your boarding pass…"

"On my cell phone, yeah," he agrees, and her fingers jump to comply and when she holds his ID up, her hands are shaking, but she doesn't hand it off.

She swallows hard. "You… you came out a week ago…"

Beside him, Zach stiffens, not enough that she would probably notice, but Chris does. He, himself, barely manages to keep his smile in place. "Yeah."

She nods. "That was… I mean, I just wanted to tell you how brave I think you are. I'm bi too," the words are tumbling out as if she doesn't really mean to say them and her eyes are too bright. "I mean, I don't mean to freak you out, I just wanted to thank you. I finally told my mom, so, yeah," she breathes shakily, "yeah, thank you."

Chris stares at her, his heart slamming too loudly against his ribs. He doesn't know what to say. You're welcome sounds glib; or pompous. And ridiculous, considering he didn't do it for her; doesn't even know her. But he manages to choke out something that sounds agreeable enough before taking his license back and shoving it carelessly into his wallet.

"Well, that's that," he mumbles as he ducks his head and quickly steps away with Zach at his elbow. "If she calls anyone."

"I doubt she will," Zach says, quietly. "I don't think she was out for a story."

Chris just grunts and picks up the pace.

"It was nice though, right?" Zach says after a minute. Chris glances at him, and he's smiling.

"Nice?"

"You know." Zach shrugs, nudges him. "Inspiring other people?"

"Oh." It isn't nice. It's about as far from nice as Chris can possibly get. But he nods anyway. "Sure, yeah."

Zach reads between the lines, hand coming up to rest at the small of his back, and instinctively, Chris shrugs him off. He realises it too late, of course. When he's already propelled himself forward a few feet. He halts, uncertain, and just barely catches the hurt on Zach's face.

It's gone before he can figure out what to do about it. Zach smiles, angles his head to indicate security, which doesn't have a line yet. Chris wants to say something, but he doesn't have a clue what it should be. For the moment, it doesn't matter; as they part to go through security, Chris emptying his pockets before he's cleared through.

Zach's already waiting on the other side, apparently not at all bothered by this new thing they're doing. But then, no one else has recognized them yet. And Zach isn't the one who's put everything on the line. Not as recently as Chris, anyway.

They fall in step once they're cleared, both of them pulling on caps and sunglasses again. They make it safely through the airport and on to the gate without anyone recognizing them, and for a moment, Chris wonders what it might be like—to give up their lives in L.A., and the constant paparazzi, the choreography he's been doing for years.

To live in a place like this, blend in and just be.

He can't, of course. They're only a few hours away from L.A., and even though he's hoping they won't be harassed upon arrival, it's only a matter of time.

"Do you want anything?" Zach asks, but Chris just shakes his head as his eyes dart around to check if they've been noticed yet; to see if anyone is furiously tapping away at a phone while looking furtive. "You haven't eaten anything today."

Chris looks over at him, at the concern in his face. He swallows down the creeping anxiety and tries to smile. "I'll have something on the plane," he promises. Zach frowns at that, but doesn't press.

They settle in two of the chairs and Zach digs into his backpack and hands over the book Chris is currently reading. "Thanks," he murmurs, still scanning the crowd. He never actually makes it to the book, since the plane is early—possibly another perk of a small town.

They're one of the first ones to board—after a man and his young child; and an elderly pair of ladies who study them with narrowed eyes as they pass. Chris refrains from frowning at them.

Once they're aboard, Zach ushers him to the window seat, even though it's technically his. Chris' throat is tight as he sits. He watches Zach rearranging their bags, making sure Chris' book is out—his headphones too before fiddling with his own stuff.

Zach glances over at him, his eyebrows furrowing as he studies Chris' face. "What?" he asks softly. Before Chris can answer, a flight attendant leans in to ask them if they need anything.

"We're fine, thank you."

She smiles, assures them that pretty much anything is possible—and it should be, for the price they're paying for the seats—and goes to check on the other passengers.

Zach is right back to studying him. "You okay?" And when Chris only nods, Zach smiles, fingers curling around the armrest as he leans in a little. "It's going to be okay."

"Yeah," Chris agrees through the ache. "I know."

Zach smiles and it's just like all the other times. When Chris wanted to lean in and kiss him, or brush their hands together but he couldn't because he wasn't out yet. And now that he is, he doesn't know how to do this. Has no idea if Zach is a fan of PDA; doesn't even really know if he is either; not in this context.

So he fumbles with his earbuds instead.

He can feel Zach watching him. So Chris tries to smile, but all he can think is: _What if we can't work this way? What if we only work as a secret?_


	2. Watch your step.

“Wait, wait,” Zach says, grabbing Chris’ arm as he turns to go into the house. He’s grinning, and before Chris is prepared for it, Zach grips him hard around the waist and lifts him off the ground. 

“Zach, what the,” he tries to protest, but it’s half-laughter. 

Zach grins, and, with a flourish, steps over the threshold and into the house. “It’s tradition,” he announces before kissing him soundly. He kicks the door closed without missing a beat. 

Smiling despite himself, Chris grumbles anyway, “Why am I the bride?”

“You’re not the bride,” Zach tells him, kissing all over his face between words as he sets him on his feet again. “But it used to be just my house and so me carrying you over the threshold—it’s symbolic. It’s our house now.” Back to his mouth again and then he’s grinning. “You can carry me over too if you want.”

Chris laughs. “It’s okay. You can have your romantic symbolism.”

Zach kisses him again, for a long time until Chris is hard and impatient for more. 

“And now we get to fuck, right?” he asks. “That has to be symbolic too. Consummating the marriage?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s consummated. Or have you already forgotten the sex we had all over the cabin?” 

Smiling, Chris kisses his pout away. “But not in our bed. Because it’s our bed now right? And that has to be symbolic…”

Pout gone and back to the kissing, hands all over as they move together down the hall with the sort of coordination that Zach will probably remark upon later—and how symbolic it is that they tumble onto the bed with their lips still locked.


	3. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.

Zach nuzzles into his hair. It’s too early to sleep, and Chris is wired anyway. He finds himself making restless patterns over Zach’s hands, tracing his fingers. Zach pulls him closer, but his breaths are slowing, his heart finding a quieter pace.

“What are we going to do with all my stuff?” Chris eventually asks, although he’s not sure why it needs to be discussed now, when Zach probably wants to doze off. 

And his voice is lazy when he answers, “Move it over here.”

“But what about my furniture?”

“That too.”

“It won’t fit.”

“I can make room for whatever you need,” Zach tells him; presses kisses behind his ear. “Don’t worry about it.”

But he is worried about it. Not worried, exactly. Just. “What about my couches?” he presses. “And my bed.”

Zach’s amused hum vibrates his skin. “We don’t really need another bed. And anyway, mine’s bigger.”

“I thought it was ours,” Chris says, and doesn’t mean for it to come out as tense as it does. 

“It is,” Zach’s voice is reassuring, but Chris doesn’t reply. His throat is prickly. It’s quiet for a minute before Zach prods gently, “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t sound tense or upset, so maybe Chris shouldn’t be either. He says anyway, “When you touched me at the airport…” He swallows, and thinks he must sound even stupider than he feels, but Zach’s lips don’t leave his skin so he goes on, “I didn’t mean to brush you off like that.”

“I know.”

That doesn’t make him feel better though. He wants to turn around, wrap himself in Zach’s arms and stay there forever. His fingers twitch against Zach’s wrist. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admits quietly, grateful for the moment that he can’t see Zach’s face. “Us, being out…” His voice peters out; Zach’s arms tighten.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, warm against Chris’ ear. “We’ll figure it out. It’s just…”

“It’s new. And it shouldn’t be.”

“It’s better than it was,” Zach tells him, voice firm in a way that makes Chris smile a little despite the topic. “I’ve never been this happy.”

And that eases the ache in Chris’ chest. “Really?” He knows it and yet. Just to be sure.

Zach kisses his neck. “Really.” He shifts back and turns Chris around. Chris goes without complaint, smiles when he sees the soft warmth in Zach’s eyes. The contentment. “We’ll figure it out,” Zach promises again, sounding perfectly at ease.

“OK,” Chris murmurs as their mouths meet, and that’s enough for now.


	4. You can have half.

"Last one." 

Rubbing at his face, Chris sighs with relief. “Thank god.” 

"Thank _me_ ,” Joe says with a grin on his way past with the final box. It’s marked in Zach’s neat script, master bedroom. 

It’s still weird to think that means the bedroom they now share in Zach’s house. Their house, if his brain would catch up with his new husband’s insistence. He watches Joe hoisting the box higher before he disappears down the hall. 

Most of his stuff is still at his house, waiting to be sold or redistributed once the house sells. It’s all books and clothes and some of his favorite knick knacks in the moving boxes. He didn’t even have enough to hire movers for the short drive. Not that either of them wanted to add to the circus currently residing outside the house in the form of paparazzi. 

Chris still doesn’t really understand how his being out rates so much interest. And maybe it wouldn’t if he wasn’t in love with his co-star, who just happens to be the Spock to his Kirk. 

Definitely wouldn’t. 

"It’s ridiculous out there," Zach’s complaint brings him back to the box-strewn living room. He doesn’t wait for an answer before leaning over two of the boxes to drop a kiss on Chris’ lips and veering off with the one his hands. That one is marked for the kitchen even though Zach has everything they could possibly need. 

Chris thinks for the third or eightieth time that he probably shouldn’t have let Zach insist so hard about bringing some of his own stuff. 

"Okay," Joe announces, dusting off his hands as he comes back into the room, "I’m off." 

Zach pops his head back out of the kitchen. “I was going to make lunch.” 

"Can’t. Have to meet Greg for that shoot." 

"Right. Want something to drink?" 

"That kale shit that you pretend is juice, but is probably actually horse piss?" 

"Fuck you," Zach laughs as he comes back into the living room and loops his arms around Chris’ waist. 

"Seriously, Chris, try to get him to buy normal food now, will you?" 

"Been trying for years," Chris tells him seriously. "He’s hopeless." Zach digs his fingers into Chris’ side and Chris hisses and jerks but Zach doesn’t let him go. Nudging him with an elbow in retaliation, Chris says to Joe, "Thanks for helping." 

"Anytime." He’s picking up his stuff from the couch; tosses it over his shoulder, "See you tonight."

Zach flaps a hand and his brother is gone. As soon as the door closes, Zach tugs Chris firmly backward until they’re tight together. “Hopeless?” he echoes, punctuates with a nip to Chris’ neck. 

"Hopelessly adorable," Chris clarifies after the pleasant shiver subsides. Zach huffs, exchanges his teeth for lips. 

"Nice try. Now, come on, time to unpack."

"What about lunch?" 

"I’ll feed you as soon as your clothes are put away. It’ll be your reward." He uses his most condescending voice and pats Chris’ ass accordingly. 

"I can think of at least ten other rewards I’d rather have," Chris mutters. He tips his head back onto Zach’s shoulder and lets Zach kiss him. It doesn’t take long before his dick is pressing into Chris’ ass. "Reward first?" Chris asks hopefully. 

Zach’s fingers catch his neck, turn his head back for another kiss and Chris knows he’s won.


	5. I'm sorry for your loss.

"They can’t." 

"They did," Chris says shortly, attention on the carrots he’s dicing. The angry chopchop of his focused effort fills the kitchen while Zach watches him, his throat tight. 

"Did they actually…" Zach swallows, trying to force his voice under control. This isn’t about him, after all. But anyone hurting Chris has always been difficult to stomach. Especially now. "Did they say why?" 

Chris’ jaw tenses; he doesn’t look up from the carrots. ”They said it would be one thing if the studio could just market me as gay.” 

Zach can barely say the words, “As opposed to…” 

"As opposed to not being able to pick a side." 

Zach stares at him, the knots tightening in his stomach. Chris keeps up the chopping for a few seconds before dropping his head, the knife with it; Zach’s feet unstick from the floor. 

As soon as he touches Chris’ shoulder, Chris is turning, letting Zach hug him close, dinner abandoned. He still doesn’t know what to say, what to do to make this better. If he could rid the world of its ignorance, it woudln’t be for himself. 

He feels helpless as he hugs Chris in their kitchen. 

"I didn’t want it to be this way," Chris mumbles. 

"I know," Zach says hoarsely, his arms tightening. "I’m sorry." 

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" Chris’ face is damp against his neck and Zach feels heat prickling at his throat, desperately doesn’t want to Chris to cry. 

"I don’t know," he whispers. Part of him wants to tell Chris to just let them. Let them market him how they want. That it can’t possibly matter if everyone thinks he’s gay. 

"I mean it doesn’t really matter," Chris says, muffled by Zach’s skin. Guilt constricts his chest for thinking it first. "We’re married and unless you’re planning to divorce me—"

"Don’t say that. Jesus…" 

It’s Chris’ arms that tighten this time. “For as long as we both shall live, right?” His voice warbles as he asks, “So, what does it matter?” 

Zach closes his eyes, presses his lips to his new husband’s cheek. ”It matters.”

He knows right away it’s the right thing to say, just from the way Chris melts into his embrace. His lips are pressing below Zach’s ear, just resting there. Relieved, and fucking grateful that Chris is his, Zach runs his hands up and down his back. ”It’ll be okay. Every studio won’t react this way.” 

Chris’ exhale is shaky. “What if I never work again?” 

"You will." 

"What if I don’t?" 

"Then I’ll support us and you can stay home and cook and clean and watch the kids."

Chris laughs wetly. ”Noah and Harold don’t need me to watch them.” 

Kissing the top of his head, Zach smiles a little before saying seriously, “You’ll work again. Maybe not as the lead in an action hero franchise, but you will.”

Chris doesn’t say anything, but for now, that’s okay. Hugging him closer still, Zach says into his hair, “I love you.” 

Chris’ soft echo feels like its been imprinted into Zach’s skin.


	6. Take a Deep Breath

"Thanks," Chris mumbles and takes the water. The bed dips as Zach sits down and even the slight movement makes Chris’ head pound. 

"How are you feeling?" Zach asks, quietly probably, but it sounds like he’s speaking through a megaphone; Chris winces. 

"Like shit." 

"Well, you did drink enough to tranquilize an elephant." 

Chris doesn’t even bother to respond. He was drinking enough to tranquilize himself and Zach knows it. Too bad the effect wore off with sleep and left him with a hangover instead. 

"Aspirin?" Zach asks, handing over two when Chris grimaces his agreement. "Do you want breakfast?" 

Chris groans and gives the water back. With only the tiniest of frowns, Zach takes it and lets him burrow back under the blankets. He can hear him setting the glass down on the bedside table, feels Zach curl behind him. His fingers settle in Chris’ hair, massaging lightly, down to the base of his skull and outward. 

Chris closes his eyes, tries to focus on it; instead of the headache trying to rip his brain apart. 

Zach doesn’t say anything, just keeps up the gentle ministrations. And really, what is there to say? Two more big projects gone. Disappeared in a cloud of biphobia. 

Not that either of the producers had the balls to admit that was the reason he was being dropped. Chris’ agent tried to make it about not being right for the part, some vague bullshit about scheduling. Until Chris suggested he could find someone willing to be blunt. 

He kind of wishes he had fired her instead. 

"What can I do?" Zach finally asks softly. 

"Other than finding me a time machine so I can go back to that interview and not announce that I’m dating a guy?" Chris grumbles. "Not much." 

He immediately regrets it. Zach’s fingers still, and although they resume their massage a second later, Chris knows it was a stupid thing to say. He ignores the renewed thrum of his headache and turns around. 

Zach quickly relaxes his expression but not before Chris sees the hurt. ”I didn’t mean that,” he says quickly, reaching to cradle his face. ”I’m sorry.” 

Shrugging, Zach squeezes his bicep. “It’s okay.” 

Chris slides closer until they’re chest to chest. ”I wouldn’t go back,” he says seriously. “Not for anything.” 

Zach smiles and that’s better. Chris kisses him, rolls them once Zach’s tongue starts exploring. Zach lets him, seems to like the way Chris’ body is draped over his. 

He doesn’t even seem to mind the stale taste of alcohol and sleep. Chris breaks away to press kisses down his chin, ducks to treat Zach’s neck to the same. He works the buttons on his shirt as he goes, makes his way down, stopping to bite gently at his nipples, smiles when it makes Zach arch up. 

His fingers find their way to Chris’ hair, winding carefully—probably in deference to the headache. But Chris doesn’t care about that right now. He focuses on the soft hair on Zach’s belly, traces the line to his waistband and unzips him, gently tugs his underwear down so he has access to his dick. 

Zach sighs when Chris takes it in his mouth, his fingers cradling the back of Chris’ skull now. He sucks him for awhile, listening to the panting, broken sometimes by moans. And when Zach’s hips start to lift off the bed rhythmically, Chris hollows his cheeks and urges him to come. 

The bitter taste floods his mouth, and Chris groans himself as he swallows it down; infinitely preferable to the stale alcohol. He licks his lips when he pulls away, presses a kiss to Zach’s softening cock and moves back up the bed, smiling at the blissed-out expression on his husband’s face. 

"You’re gorgeous like that," he feels the need to say, and is amused when Zach just looks at him in confusion. Chris kisses him happily, not giving a shit about anything else right now. Especially not when Zach starts moving down his body, following the same path Chris took a moment go. 

Chris lets his head sink into the pillows as he closes his eyes. He inhales sharply as Zach bites his nipple—much harder than Chris bit his. But then Chris likes it that way. He gives himself over to the sensation. Everything else can wait. Forever, as far as he’s concerned. 

It’s just Zach now, just Zach and his teeth; and his fingers as they grasp roughly at Chris’ dick. 

Yeah, everything else can definitely wait.


	7. Take my jacket. It's cold outside.

"Remind me again why we came here in February?" Chris asks, teeth clicking as he tries to duck his face away from the wind. 

Zach smiles and grabs his hand to pull him around. “Because you’re not in charge of scheduling holidays. Come here.” He opens his coat and wraps the edges around his shivering husband. 

Chris sighs with contentment, his cold nose finding warmth against Zach’s ear. Zach winces and pulls him closer anyway. Chris takes that as an invitation to wriggle his icy hands beneath Zach’s sweater. 

Zach bites back a yelp, but just barely. Chris doesn’t seem to notice. 

"God, you’re so warm," he mumbles, his lips moving over Zach’s stubble, probably hoping the burn will heat him up. "You’re like a furnace." 

Chris always makes that claim, although he always means it. He tends to run cold, and northern California on Valentine’s day especially so. Zach pulls the edges of his coat a little tighter and Chris hums appreciatively. 

Dropping a kiss to the side of his head, Zach asks, “You want to go back to the cabin?” 

"You wanted to take a walk." 

"I forgot you were allergic to the cold." 

Chris snorts, but he shakes his head. ”It’s okay. It reminds you of Pittsburgh.” 

"It’s not nearly as cold here." 

Chris shivers elaborately, although it’s probably not entirely feigned. 

"Come on," Zach says quietly, bumping his nose against Chris’ face so he lifts his head. "Let’s go back and I’ll find a way to warm you up." 

Chris makes a considering face. “What did you have in mind?” 

Zach cradles his jaw and leans in to press a series of kisses upward. ”I was thinking about fucking you in the hot tub, you sitting on my dick while I jerk you slowly,” he murmurs, smiles a little as Chris swallows beneath his fingers. “But if that doesn’t sound like something you might like—”

Chris turns his head and kisses him hungrily. His fingers are digging into Zach’s back, trying to bring him closer. 

"Is that a yes?" Zach asks. His laughter is muffled as Chris shuts him up again.


	8. I saved a piece for you.

"When was the last time you cleaned this thing out?" 

"When was the last time you cleaned it out?” Zach echoes pointedly, but it’s said with a grin so Chris can’t really mind. ”It’s your freezer too.” 

"Okay, but only for the last six months." 

"I think you’re supposed to clean out a freezer more often than every six months." 

Chris thinks about that but then can’t decide if it’s true. ”Hand me a garbage bag.” 

Zach tosses one at his head, which Chris rescues and then makes a face at him. Zach just smiles and returns to sorting through stacks of old mail. 

"Why am I doing this again?" Chris sighs as he stares at the freezer burn he doesn’t really want to deal with. 

"Because you had a yen to clean." 

"I didn’t have a yen." Chris plucks gingerly at a squashed box of corn. "I just thought it might be nice to throw out some of your millions of magazines. Aren’t you supposed to be Mr. Environment?" 

Zach ignores that. ”And then you decided I had to sort through my old mail. And while you’re at it—” his voice rises in what is possibly supposed to be an imitation of Chris’ voice. It’s not a very good one. “—you should look through your clothes and figure out what you could give away. No one needs this many shirts.” 

Chris is laughing at the exaggerated falsetto; can’t help it. “Well, they don’t—”

"Just because some of us like to wear the same shirt for days on end—"

"That was one time, Zach." Chris tosses a stray string bean at him and then laughs again when Zach bats it wildly away like it’s contaminated. "Let it go." 

Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Zach gingerly moves the bean from the counter to the garbage bin. ”No throwing food, Christopher,” he admonishes in a voice that rides weirdly close to the one he uses when he tells Chris not to come even though that’s all Chris wants to do. 

Chris bites at his lip and then wants to stick out his tongue when Zach smirks. 

"I’m trying to clean out a fridge," he says primly before turning back to his task. He pulls out a white box. He’s not surprised when Zach slides in behind him, palm skating beneath his shirt. Chris sucks in his stomach and Zach’s fingers wriggle beneath his waistband to find his cock. 

"The fridge can wait," Zach says against his ear. 

Which is fine with Chris. Except he has to ask, “What is this?” 

The box in his hand is smallish, but it looks like it came from a bakery, and sure enough, the gold stamp on the top says it’s from one of Chris’ favorites. The one where they got their wedding cake. 

Zach is still nibbling on his ear, but he says anyway, “I forgot about that…” 

"What is it?" 

"The top tier of our wedding cake." 

Chris blinks at that, and then a slow smile spreads over his face. “You saved it?” 

Zach kisses his neck, just below his ear. “It’s symbolic. You’re supposed to eat it—”

"On the first anniversary, I know." Still smiling, Chris turns around in his arms, and Zach sighs dramatically and takes his hand out of Chris’ pants. 

"I can’t believe you saved it," Chris says, grinning stupidly. "I didn’t even think of saving it." 

Zach smiles, and lets Chris kiss him deeply; pulls him snug at the hips. “Now that we’ve established what a romantic I am, can I go back to groping you?” 

Smiling, Chris glances down at the box. “Should we—”

Zach plucks it from his hand and puts it back into the freezer; closes the door for good measure. “Six months to go.” 

Chris wants to tease him about bad luck and symbolism, but the urge to kiss him is stronger. He gives in to it, and immediately is backed up against the fridge. Not that Chris has any complaints. What better use for a fridge than to be fucked against it?


End file.
